


every thirty-three minutes you jump for your life

by ninemoons42



Category: Actor RPF, Battlestar Galactica (2003), Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Battlestar Galactica References, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Feels, M/M, Series Spoilers, TV Series Marathon, Television Watching, so say we all, twelve colonies go boom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris muses about life, the universe, toasters, and everything just before he embarks on a BSG rewatch with Sebastian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every thirty-three minutes you jump for your life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



> Seriously, lots of BSG references in here.
> 
> This all started because of [this article](http://popwatch.ew.com/2015/01/14/battlestar-galactica-anniversary-decade-33-pilot/?hootPostID=7bb6afd2499497ea59b8b6e3ba3239ba). (Some people might not be familiar with the BSG reboot - I should warn that that article spoils basically everything in the miniseries and most of the plot of the whole show.)
> 
> The idea of Chris and Seb geeking out about space and sci-fi and nerdy things comes from [here](http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/107774388679/inkyubus-luninosity-inkyubus-sebastian).

Chris has his hands full as he hurries through glowering clouds and the imminent threat of a thoroughly gray snowstorm: he’s bought extra chocolates and a few more bits of fresh fruit, startling pops of color in a paper bag full of things in cans and maybe an extra package of coffee grounds or two. He’s glad they’ve got a proper coffee maker now, and he’s grateful that Anthony had come over to teach him how to work the infernal thing, because coffee is the first remedy to a snowstorm, and he likes coffee but he doesn’t like coffee like Sebastian likes coffee. Creamers with improbable combinations of sweet and tooth-sticking. There’s a package of that in the paper bag, too, something something salted caramel something.

The elevator’s gone and left without him, so Chris shivers a little and turns toward the emergency stairwell. What a gift to be able to come and go up these steps whenever he wants. What a gift to have another set of keys. Sebastian’s loft is on the fifth floor, and it’s a safe space for him and he’s let Chris into that safe space, and Chris will never stop thinking about what a miracle it is that he can go in, that he has clothes and a toothbrush set aside for him, a space in Sebastian’s steadily expanding wardrobe. 

One year ago he’d been speechless and tongue-tied and barely able to string two words together in the presence of those too-expressive eyes, shifting blues like the depths of the ocean, like night skies in summer. The presence of those smiles. Sebastian has a different smile for press tours and a different smile for a beer at the end of a long day of the same questions over and over again; a different smile for puppy pictures on the Internet and a different smile for a thick blanket draped over his shoulders.

A different smile for a Star Trek marathon and a different smile for the Star Wars Original Trilogy.

Here is Sebastian’s door. Chris fumbles with the keys, and remembers to step out of his shoes, and he can hear a woman’s voice up ahead, breathy, sweetly menacing.

“Are you alive? ...Prove it.”

Paper bags on the kitchen table. Chris detours toward the linen closet. Something tells him Sebastian will need another blanket for whatever this is. Maybe all of the blankets. 

Still from the TV: muffled thuds. They make him think of war drums.

The silence that follows is brief and it makes the bottom drop out of Chris’s stomach.

Drums, drums, the pulse of war, and he hurries to the couch, picks up the remote control, clicks Pause.

And he looks at the miniature fort on the couch, at Sebastian ensconced in fluffy warm things, and wordlessly he holds out the blanket he’s carrying - and he gets a smile. The soft kind, the compelling kind, the kind that makes him carefully crawl into the pillow fort and arrange the blanket in Sebastian’s lap before he reaches for the clicker again. “Hi,” he says, because he can, because he’s here, because Sebastian wants him here.

“Hi,” Sebastian says, and leans forward, and Chris closes his eyes, holds his breath, doesn’t move until he feels Sebastian’s kiss. A fleeting touch that leaves behind such warmth. He hadn’t known he’d been cold until Sebastian had kissed him. 

“Got some things. Well, some extra things. In case we get snowed in tonight,” he says, and he rubs his hands together, tries to generate some friction-warmth, before he puts his arms around Sebastian.

To no avail, of course. “You’re freezing,” Sebastian murmurs, and Chris tries to pull away because Sebastian hates the cold as cats do, all kinds of cats from the big ones to the little ones. “Come back here.”

So he does. So he lets Sebastian tuck his freezing hands into pockets, and he lets Sebastian climb into his lap, and the pillow fort gets knocked around a little but at the end of it Sebastian’s nosing affectionately at his jaw, and Chris is in the right position to kiss the back of Sebastian’s ear, so he does, and he smiles when Sebastian shivers and presses closer. 

“I like it when you do that,” Sebastian says, and Chris moves to do it again, but - “Though maybe not now, because - the episode’s started.”

Chris looks at the screen. Harsh lighting, metalbound corridors, people milling around, and - he thinks he might know what this is. “Another one of your Star Trek shows?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Not exactly.” He motions towards the remote. 

Chris obediently clicks Play. 

“You just missed the title screen, I think,” Sebastian says.

“Have I seen this?” Chris asks. “Something familiar about all of this. I mean, that set, the one with the lights - so fucking claustrophobic.”

The scene switches between a woman who receives a death sentence and a woman who deals out a death, and Chris blinks, and - “Battlestar Galactica.”

Sebastian nods. “What a shock it was to realize that this week it’s been ten years since this episode.”

“It’s been ten years since the Twelve Colonies went boom? You’re kidding - no, you’re not kidding. Wow. No wonder I couldn’t recognize it.” Chris shakes his head, reaches for the clicker again. “I should be glad I got here just before the explosions. Harrowing stuff.”

“Yes. I’ll need someone to hold on to. Someone to hide behind.” Sebastian smiles. Cuddles closer. 

Chris lets his arms tighten around him. “Oh, I think I might be able to help you with that.”

“Won’t you?” Sebastian smiles.

The explosions do come. He lets Sebastian hide tears in his collarbone. Numbers on a white board. An order to fire. Snippets of familiar dialogue. The fact that the telephones are _corded_ isn’t jarring at all. A lethal cocktail of sleep deprivation and murderous intent and ragtag desperate dogfights. He’s a little teary himself at the denouement.

_Next episode Y/N?_

“I thought of something I should have said, when you asked me why the corridors of _Galactica_ looked familiar,” Sebastian offers, the TV momentarily forgotten. “All this has happened before....”

“...And all this will happen again, yeah, I remember, unless you want to talk about the ending,” Chris offers, and Sebastian laughs, a little watery, but it’s still a laugh.

He watches Sebastian look at the screen. “We don’t have to keep going.”

“But you want to,” Chris says.

“I wanted to remember, yeah.”

“That’s what I want to do, too. We’ll keep going.”

“...Why?”

He looks at the question in Sebastian’s eyes and fumbles for the words, hopes to hell he’s found the right ones. “I’m not just humoring you, if that’s what you’re actually asking,” he says, gently. “I like this show, too. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I really like doing things with you. Even if I’m not doing anything. You remember the other night? You were playing the piano on the fucking comforter. I didn’t even know what the song was. But you were playing and it made me feel happy to be there with you. It’s - hard to explain. I’m sorry, I’m not good with words, you know me - ”

“I do,” Sebastian says, and he puts his fingers on Chris’s lips and Chris gives in to blessed relief. “And - I wanted to ask, I wanted to know, because - hey, we’re not doing anything now, there are other things we could be doing, things we’re going to miss when the nice people at Marvel call us again and send us wherever.”

“Battlestar Galactica’s a good idea: pillow forts and an old ship and frakking toasters.”

Sebastian laughs again. “Frakking toasters. How eloquent.”

“You know me,” Chris says again, and he’s laughing, too. 

“I can show you frakking,” Sebastian offers, after a moment, and starts giggling. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“I bet you couldn’t,” Chris says, and then: “Bet I’m a better kisser than that Six in the red dress though.”

“Let’s test it out, so long as this place isn’t going to be blown up,” Sebastian says, and Chris laughs and kisses him, and they don’t get to the next episode for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I seem to be incapable of getting into an RPF fandom without writing that RPF OTP into a BSG-oriented fic. Sorry not sorry. :)


End file.
